Staff Meetings

Ah meetings. Today, I sit here clack-clacking at my keyboard, monitor turned surreptitiously (and somewhat neck-breakingly) away from the meeting going on behind me. This is from well-honed instincts to cover up what's on my screen, begun by hiding porn and illicit IMs from my mother in Middle/High School and furthered by my old boss, who was constantly looking out for me as though I had porn and illicit IMs on my screen (which I most certainly did not).

As with all of these meetings, the ice is broken by everyone listening to the (not funny) stories compiled by the head honcho between meetins. He finishes and they all chuckle at his inane tale about Deal or No Deal? or how his dry cleaning was messed up, God forbid. During this time, I cut myself with staple removers (which look like fanged rabbits). *cutcut*

I really have nothing further to write on this topic as I can tell it would simply send me into a frenzy of vicious rhetoric against both my job and the corporate world in general. This would bore my audience (ha!) and myself.

Last night, I saw "The Lives of Others," a lovely German flick about pre-Berlin Wall-tearing down Germany. It followed this dude who followed this couple and became a mite obsessed with them. It's delightful and everyone should go see it. but see Pan's Labyrinth first, because it is a superior film. Ok, I'm angry at my job again, so I should sign off here.

(Defiled) Unicorns and Candy Canes,
Henry A. Tilney

Book clubs

After a grueling couple of months under the strict taskmistress that is Erika, I finished the first (and least difficult to read) selection of our Sexy Book Club (tm), Post Office. As you all know, I have long wanted to be a postal employee, spending my days in long shorts, walking through the bustling city streets to deliver girly mags, manly mags, personal letters and bills, bills, bills to the people. Right. [ir]Regardless, we (me, Jason, Tara, Erika and John Barleycorn) met up at Bukowski's (naturally) for some beer-infused conversation about the life of Chinaski, that raucous drunk who is worlds different from his creator, Charles Bukowski.

The consensus was that Jason and Tara have no taste and Erika, John and I are clearly awesome Literature-types. I kid! But I think more people should have bookclubs, because they arouse a certain sort of controlled anger, which I feel is conducive to building and maintaining strong friendships. At the end of the day, no one hated one another because someone liked Chinaski's ass all covered in geraniums and someone else liked when the book was over because it meant he or she could move on to greener literary pastures.

To follow up drunken screwing, I made an executive decision to read Neverwhere, the first novel by the inimitable Neil Gaiman, who warms my heart and my pants whenever I think of his writings. He has a greater imagination than almost anyone I have encountered either in person or in writing. This may be because he tends to write about fantasy worlds on the cusp of our own, which seem to be such a small step to the side of our reality as to almost seem believable. But I don't want to rant about Neil here; I'll save that for the bookclub.

In other news, life continues on as life tends to do. Not that I want it not to, but you know, it does and that's that. It seems some people whose pseudonyms resemble taco bell have an issue with my old-school MUD name from High School. So! I am changing it. but not to my real name; rather, to the name I could only be so lucky to have.

Love and buttercups,
Henry Tilney

p.s. - What would he have to say about me writing a journal and signing off as him. LOL!